“Magic isn't real,” he said. “I mean conventional magic doesn’t exist. The idea that you can manipulate matter and energy using gestures, words of power, or artifacts is a fallacy that has been propagated for millennia to control the masses as a panacea, reward, or punishment.”
I gave him a look and figured connected, not gifted. I didn't answer right away, trying to remember when I was that green. I’d buried too many friends and enemies to waste time or breath arguing. He would learn or he would die.
“Damn, I need some coffee,” I said eventually. “So, no such thing as magic, hmm?”
He shook his head but kept his eyes on me. At least he had some intelligence. I looked down the street, waiting for our guest.
“Science can be considered magic to primitive cultures,” Jude continued. An argument I understood, but I knew better. I opened my jacket, giving me access to Thorn, a modified M&P 9 Shield M2.0 to hold ten rounds of negation ammunition. Jude turned slowly to follow my line of sight.
“Except science can't do that.” I pointed down the street at three hundred pounds of angry muscle headed our way. I knew he wouldn’t be able to see past the shell. New Division 13 operatives still needed work on their gaze. Even with the corneal implants, it took practice to calibrate them correctly. But I knew a part of his brain—the primal, ancient part—somehow knew.
This was a monster.
The stunned silence was the usual reaction when faced with something your brain is trying to convince you doesn't exist.
“What…what is that?” He pointed with a trembling finger at the wall of bristling muscle and hate headed our way.
“I believe this particular species is called a troll. Contrary to popular myth, they don’t really live under bridges.”
“Do they all look that—?”
“Big, ugly, mean, and violent? Yes. This one in particular goes by the name of Bruce. Who also happens to be the owner of the Abyss, an illegal establishment we just shut down for human trafficking.”
I used my gaze and saw the aura of angry energy around the troll. If I didn’t shut this down quickly, this conversation was going to end badly.
“A troll? A real troll, named Bruce?”
“As real as they come.”
I checked and made sure my techbrace was fully charged. The last thing I needed was to face an angry troll and have my techbrace die on me. If that happened, I wouldn’t be too far behind.
“Mark Ronin.” Bruce chewed the cigar in his mouth. “I should have known Division 13 was behind this. You closed my club.”
“Bruce, what part of stealing and selling humans is wrong don't you understand?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I run a respectable business. I deal with clients that will be displeased about this.”
Bruce’s voice was a cross between a growl and a dumpster truck of gravel being poured out onto the street and crushed.
“Is that a threat, Bruce?”
“Consider it sound business advice. Open the Abyss and call off the blue dogs.”
I shook my head and wagged a finger at Bruce. “The NYTF hates it when you call them that.”
“This is me giving a shit about the NYTF’s feelings.” Bruce gave me the single-finger salute. “Call them off. The attention is bad for business and your life expectancy.”
The New York Task Force, or NYTF, was a quasi-military police force created to deal with any supernatural event occurring in New York City. They were paid to deal with the things that couldn’t be explained to the general public without causing mass hysteria. No one really liked them, but they were an essential part to keeping the city safe.
I sighed, leaned forward, and looked at my techbrace. The display showed me the street was clear. Either Bruce thought we weren’t much of a threat, he underestimated me, or planned to ambush us. His being a troll, he had me thinking ambush.
“Can’t do that”—in response to which, Bruce rumbled some curses, chewed on his cigar, and narrowed his beady eyes at me—“unless you can tell me who the buyer is.”
“Buyer for what? This has all been a misunderstanding. I keep telling you…I’m just a businessman. I’d never deal in illegal goods or activities.”
Trolls and ogres, though both large scary creatures, were fundamentally different. You hired ogres if you wanted a scary monster to be your weapon. You hired trolls if you wanted to hand that scary monster a weapon. It was easier to deal with ogres. They usually had two settings: still and mind-numbing destructive frenzy.
Trolls were a different matter entirely. They weren’t overly intelligent, but they were sneaky, conniving, backstabbing bastards. It made them especially dangerous. Right now, my gut was telling me we would soon be entering the combat portion of the evening’s entertainment.
“You’re a businessman?” I leaned back on the Cuda, crossed my arms, and pointed to Jude. The training I was providing him was invaluable. “My partner here feels that your ‘business’ should be razed to the ground. Along with you and all of your so-called clients. I’m inclined to agree.”
Jude opened his eyes wide and stared at me before quickly turning to face Bruce.
“What?” he stammered to find his next words. “I, no. I said no such thing.”
“Is that right?” Bruce spit the words out around his cigar. “You have a problem with my business?”
“Well, technically, we all do. The Division, I mean,” Jude answered and looked back at me nervously. I nodded, waving him on to continue. The training was going well. I was really feeling a boost in my morale. “Human trafficking is strictly prohibited by the Accords established after the war over one hundred years ago.”
“Is that so?” Bruce turned around and started walking away. “We’re done here.”
“I might add that assaulting a Division 13 operative is a Class A felony punishable to the fullest extent of the law.”
“Does he seem like a law-abiding citizen to you?” I shook my head. Rookies. “His face is a Class A felony and still he goes out in public.”
Bruce stopped and looked back with a grin. “I always did enjoy your humor, Ronin.” He grew serious and looked at Jude. “As for you, didn’t they tell you? Division 13 doesn’t exist. I’m just facilitating your cover story. I’ll let Luca know she’ll have two vacancies to fill.”
“We’ll talk later.” I checked my techbrace again. There was no way he came out here just to say hello. He was assessing the threat. I switched to the Old Tongue.
“Sure you will,” Bruce growled. “Kill them.”
My techbrace display lit up and suddenly we had incoming.
The party had started.
FIVE
“DO YOU HAVE a weapon?” I pulled out Thorn, checking the magazine. I retracted the slide and made sure I had one in the chamber.
“You plan on shooting him in the back?” Jude looked at the retreating Bruce.
“Goddamn, Luca,” I grumbled. “It’s too damn early for this. Do you realize I haven’t even had my coffee? How am I supposed to function before my coffee?”
“Sir?”
“Ronin,” I barked. “You ‘sir’ me again and the first round is for you. We clear?”
“Yes, sir—I mean yes, Ronin.”
I groaned and pushed off the Cuda. “I swear Luca’s going to pay for this. Where’s your weapon?”
He showed me his D13-issued S&W SD9. Solid firearm and useful in close quarters. His hands were shaking. Adrenaline was a bitch.
“What are we facing, sir? He pointed at Bruce. “He’s walking away.”
“You ever been in a live firefight? Not that simulated Call of Assassins Creed fantasy they feed you in training.”
“No, sir”—I eyeballed him—I mean, no.”
“Wonderful, green and unblooded. Scan the area.”
He looked down at his forearm. The display informed him we had hostiles incoming…
non-human hostiles.
“That’s not right.” He tapped on his brace as if that would change the information it showed. “It says we have five hostiles headed our way.”
He looked up but the street was clear.
“Can you shoot?”
“I was top of my class in training, sir.”
“Ammo?”
“Nine millimeter parabellums. It’s what they gave me at the armory.”
“Those’ll work.” The armory used runed ammunition to counter most of the threats we faced.
“I was also top ten in CQC and melee scenarios.”
“Top ten? I’m feeling safer by the second. Tell me what we’re facing. Use your brace.”
He held up his brace and scanned the street again. It chirped and he opened his eyes wide. I held back my smile, remembering the first time I scanned something that wasn’t human. I think I nearly shit my pants that day.
“Sir—Ronin, I think my brace is malfunctioning.” He tapped it again. Because most delicate electronics perform better after you whack them a few times. “It shows five… kobolds? That can’t be right.”
I shifted my gaze and saw the outlines of their bodies approaching. Kobolds had excellent invisibility, which made them hard to track. They were small, vicious creatures. Deadly with a blade and insanely determined to protect the home they lived in. The home I just threatened to destroy.
These came from the Abyss, worked for Bruce, and hearing my threat against their home, I doubt they were here to chat, unless by chat that meant cut us into small pieces and feed us to the dog.
“It’s right. Take them down before they shish kebab you.”
I dropped two before they got too close, their bodies bursting into small clouds of dust as the negation rounds punched through them. I slid across the hood of the Cuda, using it as a barrier.
“I don’t see…what are you shooting at?”
I dropped another one that circled around the Cuda with intent to skewer. Two left. Time for more training. I reloaded and holstered Thorn.
“Two left. Make sure you aim low.”
“Aim where?” he asked, looking around desperately. “I don’t see anything.”
“You will.”
All D13 suits contained a lining of lightweight rune-enhanced dragonscale, making them resistant to edged weapons and small-arms fire. He was safe, mostly.
“Where are they?” He pointed his gun in a wide arc in front of him and fired. He missed both kobolds but managed to kill one garbage can and two boxes of recyclable material.
Ever since the incident with a Division 13 rookie firing his weapon in public, all standard issues were runically silenced. It made life easier and we managed to stay off the NYTF’s radar.
“Use your gaze,” I said, tapping my temple from the top of the Cuda. It was a great vantage point and prevented my legs from being sliced and diced.
“My what—ahh!” A kobold tried to introduce him to the business end of his blade. Being short, they aimed for one of the most vulnerable locations: the crotch. I winced as the kobold tried to perform an emergency castration on the poor rookie.
Jude fired and hit the kobold square in the chest, creating a cloud of kobold dust. He focused, located, and tracked the second kobold. It was amazing how pain focused the senses.
He fired again and retired the second and last kobold, before falling to one knee with a grunt. I jumped off the Cuda, tapped him on the shoulder, and gave him a thumbs-up. I felt the training was progressing well.
“You could’ve warned me,” he squeaked and grabbed his nether regions. “My groin.”
I crouched down so we were eye level.
“Rookie, working for Division 13 is exactly like dealing with a kobold. You don’t see most of the things coming, and when you least expect it, you get whacked in the nuts. The only person you can trust is you. Say it with me.”
He moaned in response.
“Close enough. Let’s go talk to Bruce.”
SIX
WE WALKED DOWN the street and headed to the Abyss. The irony wasn’t lost on me. I flashed credentials and got past the NYTF cordon. Jude limped along next to me, grimacing with each step.
I didn’t see any of the NYTF brass, but I knew they were on their way. I wanted to wrap this up before they got here and it became a bureaucratic pissing contest about who had the greater jurisdiction.
The building housing the Abyss was a windowless converted non-descript three-story industrial loft popular in the neighborhood. The first two floors were for the clientele. It featured music and other ‘activities’ I preferred not to think about before my morning coffee. This was one of those ‘if you’re not invited, you’re not getting in’ kind of clubs. The third floor held the offices, which was where Bruce would be, I hoped.
The basement held the VIP area and dungeons. I don’t know what was with supernaturals and their kink, but they gravitated to dungeons like addicts needing a fix.
We walked up to the large steel door. I shifted my gaze and noticed the wards had been deactivated. Luca was taking no prisoners. Inside the club, it was a large open plan with tables lined against the walls for patrons to sit and drink.
The bar was on the far wall to my left and the metal stairs leading to the second level were on the other side of the floor directly in front of me.
Jude looked around. “What is this place?” He had holstered his weapon before approaching the NYTF cordon so I gave him points for self-preservation. NYTF officers could be a twitchy bunch, but most of them had good reason to err on the side of caution.
“Hold old are you again?” I headed over to the stairs.
“Twenty five, si—twenty five.”
“Barely old enough to wipe your own ass without help and a manual.”
He nodded in response but remained silent. He was learning. Good. Time for more training.
“Egress? How many?”
He scanned the room and I could almost hear the mental count in his head.
“Three on this level, two on the level above, unknown on the top level and basement.”
We climbed the metal stairs to the second level as the NYTF milled around on the first level, securing the premises. Whatever that meant.
“Wrong, there’s five,” I corrected. “Method of access to the third level?”
He looked again but shook his head. “I don’t see it.”
“Because you are trying to see with your eyes, grasshopper.” I tapped my temple again. “Use the gaze.”
He squinted and scrunched up his face and it was all I could do not to laugh at his expression. “Do you need a restroom?”
“I’m trying to use my gaze. This wasn’t exactly explained in training.”
“Of course it was, you just weren’t paying attention, ‘Mr. there is no magic.’ Try seeing past the foreground. Don’t focus on any one thing and keep your vision wide. Get your peripheral vision involved too.”
He did as I told him and all of a sudden his eyes opened wide. “Got it.” The hint of excitement in his voice wouldn’t last, but I let him enjoy this small victory.
“Where are the exits?”
This time he found the two he had missed and pointed them out.
“Access to the third level?”
“Service elevator. How did I miss that before?”
“Because you were ‘supposed’ to miss it. It’s runed against casual observation. Let’s take a ride. Put a fresh magazine in your weapon.”
“Why? I still have twelve rounds.”
“What’re you going to do if you need thirteen?
“Good point.”
“Preparation. It’s how I got to be older than twenty-five. Close the door.” I tapped my techbrace. “Ronin, designation 003.”
“Acknowledged,” it replied in a voice I described as cybersexy. “How may I assist you?”
“Fire and fury protocol. Track my location.”
“Acknowledged. Time parameter?”
“One
hour if not disengaged.”
“Fire and fury protocol engaged. T-minus sixty minutes.”
A timer started counting down on the brace.
“Fire and fury?” Jude asked, looking concerned and checking his techbrace. “Why doesn’t mine speak?”
I showed him my sleek matte black techbrace.
“This is a Combat Artificially Intelligent Techbrace, or CAIT for short. You have to earn one of these and your designation is 012.”
“What’s a fire and fury protocol?”
“If Bruce chooses to be less than cooperative, a runically enhanced warhead will be released from one of our satellites and reduce the Abyss to a dusty memory.”
“But—but you said to track your location.”
“Yes.” I nodded. “It provides a target without having to do all of that latitude, longitude, degrees, and such.”
“Can’t the techbrace do that for you?”
“Probably, but this makes it interesting.”
He stared at me. “You’re insane.”
“We call that a perk in the Division. Load your weapon.”
We rode up the rest of the way in silence as he reloaded his gun, checked to make sure he was back to seventeen rounds, and holstered it. When we stepped off on the third level, two ogres bookended the door to Bruce’s office. Across from the door to his office, covered in mirrored film, sat a large window providing a view over the lower level.
The smell of the ogres assaulted my senses, whacking me across the nose and making my eyes water. I coughed and tried my best to take shallow breaths.
Jude didn’t see or smell them as ogres…yet. Over time, his techbrace would heighten all of his senses. Right now, they just looked like large men who ate trees for snacks. They glared at us as we opened the door.
We found ourselves in a large reception area with no receptionist.
“Egress,” I said under my breath.
“Service elevator we just left.” He looked behind us at the two ogres. “That means going through those two, though.”
“Does that look like a good idea?
“Not particularly, no.”
“Considering they could probably twist you into a pretzel without breaking a sweat, I agree.”
The Operative : A Division 13 Story Page 2
